


Gift of the Tighs

by fragrantwoods



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 15:31:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragrantwoods/pseuds/fragrantwoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: It's the first real Christmas/Saturnalia in the 1880's settlement of Falcon's Rest, where the Adamas, the Tighs, and others have made their homes. Saul and Ellen each try to give the other the "perfect gift."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gift of the Tighs

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the 'verse of "New in Town", a crossover of "Battlestar Galactica 2003" and "Deadwood", in the fictional "Falcon's Rest", the Fleet settlement founded by William Adama and Laura Roslin Adama.

  
  
The sagging, ramshackle cabin was barely recognizable as a doctor’s office. The dried herbs hanging from the ceiling gave it more the look of an oracle’s den. Even by 1880 Earth standards, the structure looked disconcertingly primitive, as did the small man in the threadbare velvet suit who sat in front of Saul.

“I’ve not done this before, and if I do it now, I’m going to have some conditions that you’ll have to agree to meet if you want my help.”

Saul nodded at the twitchy doctor. If he could get what he wanted, it would be worth putting up with antique medical care and the doctor’s scolding tone.

“Now, if you feel _any_  discomfort or notice  _any_ swelling or inflammation, you’ve got to _promise_ me that you’ll come see me right away. Do _not_  shy away from removing the eye just because you want to give a normal appearance for a few more days, do you understand me?”

The long-haired scraggly-looking doctor glared into Saul’s good eye with an intensity almost as strong as Bill’s on a bad day.

“Sure, Doc. Whatever you say.”

Doc Cochran folded up the pamphlet containing sketches of glass eyes from a German ocularist in New York City. “I’ve seen some of this man’s work in veterans who’d lost an eye in the war, and he’ll do it to the specifications I draw,” he said, sounding somewhat mollified by Saul’s agreeable tone.

He examined Saul’s functioning eye again. “Now, at this moment, the red veins have dissipated from their previous excess of ruddiness, which I assume has to do with a decrease in drunkenness.”

Saul felt his face flush. He supposed he’d built a reputation for himself in the first visits to Deadwood, boozing and brawling periodically, (and whoring, if he were completely honest with himself) . Bill, and later, Starbuck had hauled him out of saloons on several occasions, especially when he’d first arrived and had been dreading what he’d find.

Since Ellen came back, though, he’d found it much easier to put the bottle down before his consumption got anywhere near his old levels. And since they had begun their life in Falcon’s Rest, days or even a week went by when he found himself too busy to pour a shot or three.

Or too happy.

“So, my question to you is, do you plan to continue with your temperate consumption that has returned the white of your eye more or less to its natural color, or do you anticipate, in the future, resuming the level of drinking that produced the red streaks your eye held previously?”

His pen was poised to make notes. Saul got the feeling either answer would get a nod, an “all right” and a notation on the letter of order.

“I haven’t felt the need to drink like that since my wife joined me,” he said gruffly. 

“All right, then, we’ll put in for one with the white indicating reasonable good health and sobriety.” He gave Saul what passed for a smile, which was mostly a softening of his usual dour demeanor. “I’d say there’s a good chance it’ll be here before the snows come.”

“Thanks, Doc.” Saul handed him some of the earnings from his and Ellen’s last patent, sold under the table to a geologist in England. The minute but critical improvements they’d made to Milne’s seismograph would bring him and his associates thousands, and he’d deemed it worth the money Saul and Ellen had asked.

.

###################

.

The afternoon sun was giving Ellen a much-needed embrace of light and heat, warming her to the bone as she rode along the dusty trail. Pegasus moved with an easy stride, picking daintily around loose stones and dips in the road. Ellen had always liked horses, at least in one of her previous lives. She could dimly remember a riding stable on Earth: water-color images of her and Saul leaving the city for a weekend, hiring two horses to ride along trails in the foothills near their country retreat. It had been a happy time for them.

It seemed like their work responsibilities had taken over their lives later on, for some reason. Her memories were spotty in places, but she remembered a time when all recreation was put aside for the sake of research. Before, though, there had been some sweet times. Times when they weren’t both huddled over work benches and computers.

The wind caught her golden hair, which had started to silver here and there over the past year, and tossed it around her face. The air held a chilled center born of the coming winter, a subtle contrast to the heat of the sun, and made her glad she’d worn the buckskin pants and shirt she’d bought at summer’s end.

She swayed with Pegasus’s gait, working her mind around a pattern for her next weaving project, a tapestry of the Opera House and its six roads arranged around it like spokes. It would be intricate enough to keep her busy though the winter. Weaving, developing new-old inventions in their workshop…and Saul. She had no doubt that he’d keep her distracted when the snows made getting out of Falcon’s Rest more trouble than it was worth.

She surveyed the switchback ahead of her and saw the figure she’d been looking for. Saul, a wide-brim hat pulled down to shade his eye from the sun, was on Valkyrie, his dappled gray, moving at a brisk pace towards her and Falcon’s Rest. She headed for the grassy spot below her on the trail that would give Pegasus a chance to graze as they waited.

Fifteen minutes later, Saul had reached her, Valkyrie dipping her head to join Pegasus in nibbling at the late autumn grass as soon Saul pulled her to a halt.

“Hey, sweetheart. Come to be my wingman on the way home?” He was sitting straight and easy in his saddle. The aches and pains of shipboard life and their tumultuous marriage on Caprica had been burned away, for the most part, in the healthy living they now enjoyed.

The soul-deep aches they both had from the traitorous,murderous events on New Caprica were burning away as well.

“Yep. I’m not Husker, but I thought I’d do,” she said with an impish grin. Their mounts snuffled each other while she leaned forward far enough to give him a welcoming kiss.

“Take me on home, then, Mrs. Tigh.” He drew Valkyrie up beside Pegasus and they set off at a leisurely pace, their legs bumping up against each other every few steps.

“Did you get done what you needed to do, on your mysterious trip into Deadwood?” She gave him a curious look out of the corner of her eye.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Gonna tell me what it was about?”

Once she would have screeched that question, well on the way to the bottom of an ambrosia bottle by the time Saul showed up. She could hardly remember what she’d sounded like. She wondered sometimes if his memories were clearer than hers, or if he was just as happy to leave those in the past.

“No, not today. But I will.” He picked up her hand and kissed it, then gave it a tight squeeze before letting go. “I’ll tell you when it's the right time.”

The sun was setting, streaking the deep blue sky with orange, pink and gold above the black hills surrounding them. The last of the daylight saw them coming past the sign along the road into the settlement: a burnt-wood image of a falcon, wings folded as it sat on a branch. The words “Falcon’s Rest” had been carved underneath it.

.

##################################

.

The torches lit the stable area as they brushed down their mounts. Saul took a moment to enjoy how healthy and happy Ellen looked, her suede leather pants fitting snugly around her curves as she bent to run the brush down Pegasus’s legs. She was as industrious in doing the physical labor of everyday life as she was in their rudimentary lab.

These new images of her were slowly wearing away the horror of seeing her trapped and dying under a mountain of rubble.

And the quieter horror of seeing her eyes close and the cup he’d given her fall from her hand, somehow more monstrous in their mutual resignation to her fate.

They needed new images to replace the old, and they gathered more each day, ephemeral flashes of the beauty of living. Her hair was deep gold in the torchlight, held out of her face by two wooden combs he’d carved when the snows kept them house-bound last winter. Since they’d settled, he found himself missing only a few things…but he did wish he had his old camera, to capture her like this.  
  
. 

#################################  
  
. 

The snows were different this year…or maybe they were just more used to Dakota winters. Two wagons converted to sleighs made frequent trips into the larger town, sometimes making a run for supplies up to Sturgis.

A wagon fitted with huge blades kept the main thoroughfare scraped and passable. Even with the frigid winter, more people were out and about this year, visiting neighbors and gathering for friendly card games and other homemade entertainment. This was becoming home, Saul thought. The cramped corridors of _Galactica_ seemed like a bad dream, the fear and pain of New Caprica a fevered nightmare.

The reality was the fresh icy air, and the sun sparkling on frozen snow banks, making the surface shine like diamonds. Reality was the frozen pond, currently populated by a half-dozen skaters making their way around the edge, with varying degrees of grace and skill.  
  
Reality was the silver-gray smoke rising from his chimney, a sign that Ellen was waiting for him by a warm hearth. 

Saul mushed through the broken crust of snow from the community barn to the thoroughfare and headed home, one hand gripping the small box in his pocket. Falcon’s Rest was still trying to integrate old traditions into the new ones of their adopted world, and Christmas was a natural substitute for Saturnalia. He’d never made much of a fuss over Saturnalia before—too many times it had been a bitter reminder of how far off-course their marriage had gone—but it felt right, somehow, to celebrate the season this year.

There was a pine tree in every house this winter, decorated with beads and bows and beribboned carvings. A larger tree stood in the community center, reaching within a foot of the ceiling, leaving just enough room for a shiny tin star at the top.

He and Ellen had joined Laura and Bill in examining each ornament the settlers had hung, making sure that nothing was too… _unusual_. Merrick planned to come up from Deadwood to take a picture and write a short piece on the first real Falcon’s Rest Christmas, and apparently anything too Saturnalia-observant (or “pagan," as he guessed it would be called here) would get raised eyebrows and curious comments.

They could have said “No,”of course, but he’d been planning a task for Merrick for months now. This would be the perfect time. Doc Cochran had come through for him, even if he’d made him endure more fittings than Saul thought strictly necessary.

It would be worth it, to see the smile on her face. He was glad that local traditions supported exchanging gifts on Christmas Eve. He didn’t think he could stand to wait for morning.  
  
His burgeoning nervousness grew the closer he got to their home. 

.

#####################  
  
. 

The Tigh house was a warm and cozy oasis in a frigid sea of snow and white-capped pines. Ellen straightened a string of beads nestled in the branches of their small tree as she listened to the fire crackle in the fireplace. Some of the ornaments might have gotten a second glance from the locals, and a couple sparked memories in fellow settlers who visited. With her small loom and the embroidery supplies she bought last summer, Ellen had created small fabric depictions of flags and symbols of each of the Twelve Worlds, abstract representations of ships and basestars, even a few of the opera house.

Every home in Falcon’s Rest had one or two Tigh ornaments. The community tree had a dozen. The rustic, intricate handwork had been a welcome relief from their laboratory tasks. It had been a long time, maybe even several lifetimes, since she had created anything just to have something pretty.

She heard Saul’s crunching footsteps long before his boots hit the front porch. She finished the careful wrapping she’d started on the small package that lay in her lap, giving the piece one last touch. The silk threads felt cool under her fingertips, the heavy silk backing smooth and neatly stitched. She hoped he liked it. She knew she’d love looking at it.

“It’s colder than frak-all out there,” he grumbled as he closed the door behind him. The wind blew a few kicked-up snowflakes into the house and they melted into the braided rug.

Ellen got up and placed the package under the tree. “Dinner’s ready. I’ll go set it out, if you want some privacy to put anything under the tree.” She stepped closer and gave him a loving kiss, shivering from the cold he brought in with him.

“Give me a minute.” He pulled away and started taking off his long buckskin coat and fur hat, still damp from snow falling off the branches.

She looked at his empty hands. Her gift-wrapped package looked a bit lonely under the tree.

“Did you still want to exchange our presents tonight? We can wait until morning, if you’d rather,” she offered.

“No need to make a big deal out of it. Tonight’s fine.”

His voice held a worrisome note of his former grouchy self. Ellen let the matter rest as she dished up two plates of beef stew that had been simmering on the stove all day, thick with root vegetables and a jar of Gaius’s tomatoes, canned late last summer.  She ate quietly, watching him tear off hunks of bread from the dark round loaf she’d baked earlier.

_What had him in such a mood?_ Some of the old impatience with him she’d carried in her previous resurrection began to surface. This was not the Saul she’d been living with these past months. His one good eye stayed focused on his food, occasionally looking up at her then quickly glancing away. The festive feeling she’d had earlier was beginning to dwindle.

She was relieved when dinner was over and the dishes were in the sink. Her Saturnalia spirit was flagging and she didn’t think Christmas was meant to feel like this. She shrugged. Maybe tomorrow, with everyone crowded into the community hall, would be better. There would only be one or two outsiders, and after the photo op (or whatever they called it here) was over, they could freely discuss memories of loved ones and past Saturnalias.

Maybe she should ask Bill to come over, she thought as Saul disappeared up the stairs. He had always had a good hand with getting Saul out of bad moods.  She settled into her rocking chair by the fire and put her hands out to catch the heat _. If it wasn’t so cold outside…_

But it was. And just the thought of putting on her heavy coat and thick fur boots and walking into the dark made the joints in her fingers throb. She frowned as she thought of the time and careful stitches she’d sewn for his gift. The muttered cursing she heard coming from their room upstairs was the perfect expression of her feelings right this minute.

She ignored the heavy footsteps as they trod down the stairs, keeping her back to her ill-tempered husband. For the first time in months, she realized she was thirsty for the taste and burn of a stiff slug of ambrosia.

“Ellen?” His voice had lost all the grouchiness she’d heard. He sounded almost…nervous.

“What?” She kept her eyes on the fire.

“I, uh…thought we could go ahead with the presents.”

“Are you sure you want to? You seem in an awfully bad mood tonight.” She still didn’t look at him.

His voice came closer. “New things scare me sometimes. I shoulda kept the attitude to myself.” He rested his hand on her shoulder. Without thinking, she reached up and covered it. His fingers were rough and work-hardened, and felt like home.  
  
All their homes. 

“What new things, Saulie?” She turned slightly to see him standing by her chair. His face was in the shadows cast by the fire.

“I don’t know if this was a dumb thing to do or not, but…I wanted to give you this for Christmas. Maybe I should have asked….”

Before she could speak he moved in front of her and pulled her up from her chair. His hands clasped her arms as he stood there with a tentative, hopeful look in his eyes.

_His eyes._

Looking back at her were two deep brown eyes, rich as morning coffee. The eyelid twitched a little over his right one, but the look of it, the shades of brown, darker at the outer iris, the white that matched his other eye perfectly…he looked like he used to.

He looked like he did before the horror of New Caprica and what their child had done to him.

“Well? You gonna say something, or did I just make a fool of myself?”

She brought her fingers up to cup his face. “It’s perfect, Saul.” She smiled as she turned his head a bit. “It’s so natural-looking.”

“Old man’s vanity, I guess. Thought you might be sick of staring at a patch all the time.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss into the palm.

“I never minded the patch, honey. Or what was under it. I just hated that you’d been hurt.” She examined him with a clinical eye, then smiled. “You look like I think of you, when I think of the old times that were good. Like the man I always married.”

“You don’t think it was selfish, me getting this for your present?”

“Not at all. I get it, Saul, I really do.” She glided into his arms then, and his kisses were as warm and comforting as the bearskin rug in front of the fire. They became more like the fire itself, flickering, then rising to a bright flame. The chair was soon piled with hastily discarded clothes.

For the first time in years, when she slowly sank onto him, his hands guiding her hips, she looked down and saw two beautiful brown eyes looking back at her. Only one might have been real, but she saw love shining from both of them.

.

###########################  
.

The fire had burned lower, casting a burnished glow over their shoulders as they lay exhausted on the bearskin rug, one of Ellen’s woven blankets pulled over them. They exchanged drowsy kisses in the firelight, her head resting on his arm. He looked as contented as she’d ever seen him. It was the best present she could imagine—

_Frak. His present._

She sat up, bending across him to reach under the tree. “Saul, honey, we’ll need to do this another day. What I made…it doesn’t make much sense now.”

“Bullshit. I’m sure it’s just want I wanted, even if I didn’t know it yet.” His smile made the years fall away from his face as he sat up and hugged her.

“Well…I wouldn’t bet any cubits on that.” She bit her lip as she handed the package to him. “I’ll do something else, something you can use, but here’s what I made.”

She watched as he carefully removed the fabric she’d used to wrap his gift. After the last fold was opened, he sat there, looking at what was in his hand.

It was an embroidered eye patch, the constellations of their home galaxy worked into black silk in silver and gold thread, with streaks of dark blue shining against the black. The nose of a battlestar edged into the image, unrecognizable to anybody who’d never seen one. Black silk cord was woven smoothly into the sides of the patch. The edges were stitched smooth and flat, and would rest comfortably against his cheek and forehead.

“Gods, Ellen, this is a frakking work of art.” He turned it over, then held it out, admiring it. “I love it.”

She took it out of his hands. “We’ll give it a special spot on your side of the dresser, then.”

He tugged it back from her, a relieved look on his face. “I wasn’t sure when to tell you, but the Doc said it’d be best to not wear my new eye all the time. I got worried, you liking it so much...me telling you I’d have to go back to wearing the patch sometimes. But this….” He smoothed his finger over the silk. “It’s gonna take the sting away from having an empty socket once in a while.”

Her heart lightened. “I thought you’d look quite dashing in that.”

“Best looking one-eyed mother-frakker in the territory,” he chortled, before kissing her again.

.

##############################  
.

Bill didn’t know much about the process of this era’s photography, but he knew it wasn’t free. Most couples and families had posed to have one picture taken, the newspaper editor’s huge flash going off over and over, throwing smoke and ash in the air.

He’d been surprised when Saul had asked Merrick to take two pictures of him and Ellen. Not that it was the first surprise of the day by a long shot. He’d felt like he’d been jerked back through time when he saw Saul stride into the community hall with what appeared to be two good eyes. Something about the way he looked, the happiness visible on his face, made everyone around them smile. The illusion was broken when someone came up on his blind side, but then the affection between him and Ellen would swirl around them, and all anyone saw were two people still in love after eons.

Merrick aimed the camera at the couple, told them to take a deep breath, hold perfectly still, and with a bright flash, Saul and Ellen were captured for all time, looking dignified and happy to be together. The heavy-set editor seemed surprised when they approached him later, before he packed up to leave.

Bill looked down at the object in his hand, round and warm and nestled in a white handkerchief. He’d turned it so it wasn’t looking right at him.

In the far corner of the hall, Saul and Ellen stood next to each other, his hand on her shoulder, and her hand covering his. The delicate stitches on the patch that showed where they’d come from, and how they’d gotten here, shone in the candlelight. The embroidery flared brightly when the flash went off.

Their happiness had now been captured twice, for the ages, in a twin celebration of Christmas and Saturnalia.

Somehow, it only seemed right.


End file.
